


A Canary Song

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5x22, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: "Leopold James Fitz-Simmons, don't you dare leave me."The death scene we deserved in 5x22 but didn't get.





	A Canary Song

She's going over Coulson's test results when she hears a commotion in the hallway. Mack comes rushing in, arm muscles bulging from the strain of carrying Fitz in his arms. Piper, Davis, and some agents whose names she never bothered to learn follow closely behind. They're all dirty and covered with blood, but the only one injured seems to be Fitz.

"What happened?" she asks, springing into action. She can't her eyes off of her unconscious husband.

"He was hit by falling debris," Mack says. He places his burden on the empty medical bed that used to be Coulson's. "Not gonna lie, Simmons. He's pretty banged up. Piper and I did what we could but . . ."

"Everyone out," Jemma orders. 

"I can stay and help," Mack says, the anguish clear on his face. "Tell me what I can do."

"You can leave," she tells him. It comes out sounding harsher than she intended, but she doesn't care. "I need room to work."

That's not entirely true. The med bay is small, but wouldn't be overcrowded with another person there. She just wants to be alone with Fitz. She'll need to examine him fully before she can make an official medical diagnosis, but by the looks of it . . . well, she's not ready to go there yet. She can tell Mack wants to stay, but he knows better than to fight her right now.

"All right, you heard the doctor." Mack gestures toward the door and the agents depart. Before following them out, he looks back at Jemma one more time. "I'm sorry." 

It sounds more like a condolence than an apology.

She turns her attention back to Fitz and feels his carotid artery for a pulse. It's there, but very weak. His shirt, the same one he wore on their wedding day, has been torn open and there's a blood-soaked bandage across his abdomen. It squishes as she removes it, searching for the wound underneath. When she finds the massive, angry, red gash, she sucks in half the air in the room. It's bad. Really, really bad. She's frankly surprised he held on this long.

She cleans his skin as best she can, finding more fractures, lacerations, and deep purple bruises as she goes. His labored breathing indicates a punctured lung and his spine is so badly damaged, he may never walk again. And that's the optimistic part of her talking. 

There's really no point in bandaging him up again, but she does it anyway, because it makes her feel like at least she's doing _something_. The new bandages are soon soaked with his blood and her tears. She fixes him up with a morphine drip. At least she can dull the pain.

When she's done, she holds his hand -- colder than hers for the first time ever -- and thinks back to the last time she watched over him like this, during those nine long days when he was in a coma. She remembers sitting by his bedside, wondering if he would ever wake up, wondering what they'd say to one another when he did. So much of this feels the same. And yet, so much is different.

At least this time she doesn't have to wait so long for him to open his eyes. 

"Jemma," he says weakly. The corners of his mouth turn up, the beginning of a smile, but a sharp intake of breath interrupts before it gets there. "Glad you're here."

"Hi Fitz," she says, breathing out for what feels like the first time since Mack brought him in. She brushes her fingers across his forehead and gives him the most hopeful smile she can manage. "You gave us quite a scare."

"Wasn't trying to." His voice is barely above a whisper and it's taking more breath than he can take in. 

He tries to roll toward her, but she gently stops him. "It's better if you don't move around."

"I know I don't have much time," he says. She doesn't like the resignation in his tone, like all the fight has left him.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's just a scratch. You're going to be fine." She tries to contain the tremble in her throat, without much success.

"You've always been a t-t-terrible liar, Simmons." 

"I refuse to accept that this is how our story ends." She shakes her head back and forth so hard it makes her dizzy.

"Hey, hey." He reaches out a quivering hand to touch her cheek. How is it possible that _he's_ the one comforting _her_ right now? She feels her heart expand in an attempt to accommodate the overwhelming feelings of love she has for this man. "It's not been a bad life. Got to make things. Save the world. Be with you. How many people get to meet their soulmate at 16? We had longer than most."

"Don't talk like that," she admonishes. "You're going to get through this."

"I think we both know that's not the case." 

"Leopold James Fitz-Simmons, don't you dare leave me." She says it as forcefully as she can. As if ordering him to stay might actually work.

"It's okay." He stops for a moment to breathe. It's getting harder for him by the second. "I think this is supposed to happen. The universe correcting an . . . anomaly."

"What anomaly?"

"Me. I'm the ca-canary in the coal mine."

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do." He looks up into her eyes. His face is blurry and splotched with red, but handsome as ever. "We broke the loop. You were right. Time _can_ be changed. The future I'm from won't happen in this timeline. I'm not . . . supposed to be here. Ahh!" He winces in pain and grabs his side.

She adjusts his morphine drip. His eyes close for a moment. When they open, they search the ceiling, unfocused. 

"Nonsense," she says, continuing the conversation, though she's not sure if he's following. "Of course you are. We're supposed to be together."

"And we . . . will be. You just have to wake me up."

"But you're-- Oh. I see."

She understands then. He's talking about the version of him floating out in space somewhere at this very moment. The present-day Fitz. He'd filled her in on how he'd gotten to the future, but she hadn't given it much thought beyond that. They'd been a little busy trying to save the world and Phil Coulson. But now she gets it. The Fitz who belongs in this time is waiting for her, frozen in a cryo chamber, unaware that he's already solved the problem.

Knowing that should make this easier. 

It doesn't.

Because the incredible, heroic man who showed up out of nowhere with his own spaceship and saved her from Kasius, who married her and promised to never leave her side, who got them back to the past, and suffered a mental break, and saved the world time and time again, is currently dying in front of her. 

"Do me a favor, Jemma," he whispers. His throat works hard to swallow between shallow breaths.

She leans her head toward him to hear better. They're so close, her tears fall down onto his cheeks. "Anything."

"When you f-f-find him? Let him propose first."

She smiles and lets out a small laugh in between sobs. "I will. Promise."

He takes her hand and covers it with his. She feels something small and smooth drop into her palm. His ring.

"I don't deserve you," he says for what seems like the hundredth time. She tries to object, but he holds up a finger. "Shh. Let me get through this. I know I don't, but I'm so grateful I got to be with you anyway. Just . . . be patient with him. He's fighting something d-dark inside and he's going to need you. All of you."

She sniffs and bends down to kiss him on the cheek. "You're a good man, Fitz." If he's really leaving her, she wants these to be the last words he hears.

"I'll always be with you, Jemma. I lo--"

Before he can finish, his blue eyes lose their sparkle. They stare off into space, open, but not seeing. His body goes limp.

"No," she whispers, clutching the ring tightly in her fist and bringing it to her forehead.

She says it again, louder. 

"No!" 

She keeps saying it and saying it. 

"No. Don't go. Please. No!"

But he doesn't listen. He's already gone.

"I love you too," she murmurs to the empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> This one hurt, guys. But somehow it hurt less than what they gave us. Sorry (not sorry).


End file.
